Fight or Flight
by Gingham
Summary: In which Aunt P makes her entrance about 60 seconds later, and our heroes decide that "tomorrow" will do much better than "our next murder investigation", thank you very much! Experiments in first person POV, just for fun.
1. Chapter 1

Notes:

I've been experimenting with a bit of first person POV lately and noticed there wasn't too much kicking round the fandom, so thought it would be fun to post the first part of this (hopefully) three parter, and see what people think. I hope I've managed to keep true to the character voices, but you never know with the old first person!

Thi starts at the very familiar end of Unnatural Habits, but hopefully diehards (um, so all of us then) will spot when it begins to go a little AU.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Gingham xx

 ** _Phryne_**

"I thought you were with Rosie."

The moment he said "I was," I knew why he had come. To let me down gently.

It felt horribly... ironic, I suppose. The amount of relationships I've had where intimate embraces have been exchanged freely and never spoken of again! And here was Jack, with whom my entire relationship has consisted of embraces we DIDN'T have and words we DIDN'T say, feeling the need to come and tell me that he was going back to his ex-wife! He could have quite easily left it, mentioned it casually in passing or pretended that it didn't matter.

He didn't.

But that's Jack. That's Jack. And I was so struck then by his... GOODNESS, that I couldn't bring myself to show him how much his decision hurt.

 _Accept his decision graciously, Phryne_ , I thought. _He's an honourable man. He's a good man._

 _Too good for you, maybe._

"She needed you," I said. "Jack Robinson. The man who always does the right thing. The noble thing."

But then, something changed. I could see the fight rise in his eyes, the moment he realised I was letting him go gently. He didn't want to go at all!

"Not always, Miss Fisher."

His lips were on mine before I had a chance to respond. It was such a chaste kiss, a mere brush of skin on skin. But it seemed to reach right through my body and grab hold somewhere near my navel, yanking me into shocked stillness. I rushed to part my lips in response, but it was too late: he had retreated and was looking into my eyes carefully, seeking confirmation, I suppose, that this was what I wanted.

Imagine being in doubt about THAT after all these months!

Whatever he saw in my face must have reassured him and he pulled me towards him, one hand at my back and one behind my head, his lips hungry this time as he pressed me against his body.

My own hands were frustratingly trapped between us, stuck at his lapels, but I smoothed my hands over his chest and was able to feel the quickening thrum of his heartbeat beneath. I responded to his kiss eagerly, exploring his mouth with increasing excitement. It was finally happening!

"Was that the baby?"

Drat!

I stepped back quickly, fixing my Aunt with a deadly, gimlet-eyed type of stare. Infuriating woman!

Jack had turned his face towards the staircase, vainly attempting to hide his heavy breathing and flushed expression. Prudence eyed him suspiciously and made some remarks about it being rather late for a house call before bustling into the next room to see to Mary's infant.

I couldn't help but laugh at Jack's uncharacteristic ruffled exterior, and he bit his lip, trying not to smile.

"You might have warned me your Aunt was here," he rumbled.

"You never gave me a chance."

"Maybe we should continue this... conversation another time."

The pause before he said "conversation" was absolutely delicious!

"Yes, indeed, Jack," I said, using my most seductive tone. "I can't wait to hear what you were going to say next."

He reddened slightly, and shot me a censorious glance before heading towards the door.

I caught his arm as he opened the door. "Come for dinner tomorrow?" Now was the time for action. I had no intention of letting this slip by and it becoming one of those moments we never mentioned again.

But luckily, Jack clearly had no intention of that either.

"I'd like that," he said softly.

"Good."

"Until tomorrow then, Miss Fisher."

"Until tomorrow."

 ** _Jack_**

I've often heard that to a man approaching the end of his prison sentence, the last few weeks stretch out insufferably, seeming almost as long as the preceding years. The closer the release date gets, the farther away it seems.

As a man locked who has spent the last few months steadfastly in a prison of his own making, I can now confirm this urban legend to be unequivocally true.

For eons, it seemed, I was withstanding the advances of Miss Phryne Fisher. At times, it seemed I was doing so only to my own detriment. After all, it would have been easy enough to stay that little bit later one night after a case, or when catching her arm one day, keep hold, and pull her in. It wasn't that I didn't want to; I think even Collins could attest to that! (Although, obviously, we will _never_ discuss it) Rather, the opposite was true, I wanted her too much. To the point where I knew, that even if it did last more than one night, I would spend any dalliance we had waiting in frozen horror for the end to come.

But recently, I have sensed a change in her which has allowed me to hope (as I have never allowed myself to before) that this is important to her too. Too important, maybe, to squander on a couple of nights of pleasure. That actually this want, this need, which has tormented me for so many months, might be something that she feels too.

I felt it that day in my office, when she stood in front of me to fix my tie. Though I suppose the heat we generated that day may have been purely down to our close proximity. I have a tendency to spectacularly overheat when I am close to Phryne, something that she has noticed and therefore taken it upon herself to orchestrate when at all possible!

But I also felt in that day in that benighted town of Maiden Creek, when Collins and I arrived and took possession of the body of Oscar Voigt. She looked at me with a mixture of so much pride, relief and affection that I couldn't even bring myself to feel jealous of that wine crusher who was clearly making eyes at her.

And then there was last night. I went to her because I _didn't_ want her to think I was going back to my ex-wife. I knew she feared it earlier in the station, when I went to comfort Rosie. But she took my arrival at her house as confirmation, and I heard it in her voice; the hurt and resignation as she gave me up. Just as I had once given her up.

All this giving up, and here we were. Still there.

In fact, we would probably _still be there now_ if it wasn't for that confounded Aunt of hers! But no matter, dinner was arranged for today. And I can feel my skin tingle all over just to think of it.

This isn't just a flirtation now, I know it. This is a partnership, a true partnership, and one I feel I have been waiting for my entire life. The jailed man, waiting for release. (Er… metaphorically, of course.)

But now, it seems that tonight doesn't just _appear_ further away, it actually _is_. Last night's activities, I confess, pushed everything else from my mind and I found myself agreeing to dinner without remembering that today was likely to be one of the most trying days in my police career.

After two hours of interrogation this afternoon about my relationship with George Sanderson, I realised the likelihood of my making it out at a reasonable time was slim to none, so I slipped out to telephone Phryne.

"Jack?" Her voice came brightly down the line.

"Miss Fisher-"

"You're going to be late, aren't you?"

I frowned. "Formidable detecting, Miss Fisher. Even for you."

"Hugh told Dot you were all being questioned."

I sighed. There are no secrets in my police station with that lad on the team.

"Has it been awful?" she continued sympathetically.

"I've had pleasanter days," I replied, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard by the visiting investigators currently taking up residence in every nook and cranny of City South.

"I should have remembered this would happen today," Phryne sounded almost contrite. "Do you want to reschedule our dinner?"

"No," I said quickly. Hearing her voice made me even more impatient to see her again. "As long as you don't mind a late visitor?"

"You're never too late, Jack."

I heard the smile in her voice and recognised her reference to her words last night. "Good," I said, smiling too.

"I'll see you tonight then."

"I can't wait," I answered truthfully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes:**

I'm enjoying playing with first person, I have to admit. It strikes me that Phryne's chapters and much longer than Jack's - but then she is more verbose so that seems somehow fitting.

Thanks to those who have liked and reviewed and I hope you continue to enjoy!

UPDATE: Gahh, sorry, completely forgot to change the rating when I posted this last night. All sorted now.

...

Chapter 2

 ** _Phryne_**

There is a fine balance between ensuring a Michelin starred dinner for a man (especially a man with such a healthy appetite as Jack) and ensuring the requisite amount of privacy for the said dinner to take place to ones' satisfaction.

At Wardlow, this balance is, of course, to be found in the presence or otherwise of the glorious Mr Butler. I spent several minutes uncharacteristically debating what to do about this balance when a phone call from Jack settled the question.

"He'll probably be late, Mr B." I reported, coming back into the kitchen.

Mr Butler considered. "Well then, Miss. I think the easiest thing to do is for me to whip up something that you can easily reheat when you're ready, and then I can go off to my regular card game without disturbing you."

We agreed, steadfastly ignoring the fact that we both knew fine well that Mr Butler doesn't have a regular card game on Friday nights.

I packed Dot off to the pictures with Hugh (the dear boy doesn't even need bribed!) and so when Jack eventually rang the bell at just after nine o'clock, I was alone in the house.

His smile grew as I explained this to him. He divested himself of his coat and hat (the one I bought him after Maiden Creek!) and fixed me with a look that can only be described as sultry.

"Just us then, Miss Fisher?"

It was then I began to feel my first pang of nerves. Not that this was by any means a strange situation for me to be in; alone in my house with a man upon which I have definite designs. That's not even a strange situation for me to be in with Jack! But this time, I knew my designs had half a chance of coming to fruition!

It's hard to pin point why exactly last night seemed to change things for us. Selfishly, (but, I suppose, honestly) it might have been the sudden realisation that I was going to lose him that made we want him all the more. Deathly predictable, but there we are! I'd always felt that he was holding back from me because of who I was. I never considered any external factors, until the external factor concerned found her way back into his arms at City South.

I sound malicious, and I hate it! I make a point of never being catty towards other women; as a sex we have quite enough to deal with without turning on each other. But right at that moment I wanted to leap over to where they stood and insert myself firmly between them.

I think I could have dealt with it, eventually. Losing to another woman. It surprised me at the time, of course, but I'm nothing if not adaptable. No, what really cut me to the bone was realising just how good Jack Robinson was. As I watched him go to her, displaying a rare show of affection in the workplace, I was struck by the thought that this man, who has been to hell and back, who lost his wife and his hope of family and who only that day had suffered utter betrayal at the hands of his mentor and friend, came out of all that with such a capacity for kindness, empathy, generosity, sweetness….

Enough Phryne. Enough to say he was a rare man, and enough to realise, hard as it was, that he was too good a man for me.

But now here he was in my house, fixing me with a lustful eye, and I wondered how I could ever deserve him.

We went through to the kitchen and I heated up Mr. Butler's excellent lasagne, Jack stepping in when I got too over exuberant with the fish slice or the temperature of the oven. He knows his way around a kitchen, I can tell you! Why have I never found that an attractive quality before?

As we sat eating it, we discussed the day. I was keen to find out what was going on with the Sanderson case.

"Why on earth don't they trust you?" I said, as he told me of the interrogation. "You were the one who brought him in!"

He smiled at my indignation. "Because of Rosie, I suppose."

"You'd hardly collude with your ex-father-in-law and the man who wanted to marry your wife!"

"Former wife," he corrected with a reproving eye. He sighed. "George has obviously been flinging mud at me from his prison cell, trying to see what will stick."

"Brute."

"People traffickers generally are."

"What possible scandal can be associated with you?" I huffed, outraged.

He shook his head calmly. "Nothing that will affect the case. He's clutching at straws."

A sudden thought came to me. "Don't tell me he brought up your professional association with a lady detective of great skill and repute?!" I widened my eyes in mock horror, as the prospect clearly didn't faze Jack in the slightest. Nonetheless, I was determined to winkle it out of him.

He grinned suddenly. "If he did, he'd have to disown a high proportion of the solved murder cases that took place on his watch."

I eyed him carefully. "Well avoided, Inspector."

We clinked glasses.

"And what about you, Miss Fisher?" he said, after taking another drink. "How many scandals are attached to your name?"

I looked at him carefully, knowing that he was asking if I currently had any other… partners.

Bless Jack. He asks so little of me. I could never ask him to do that. I smiled reassuringly.

"Only one I'm considering at present," I replied. "And even that isn't so much a scandal."

Jack tilted his head. "Then how would you describe it, Miss Fisher?"

"I rather think it might be the best decision I ever made."

"I see." He smiled, his eyes never moving from mine. I felt a sudden surge of panic. This was too big. We were so close. How could I be sure that I wasn't going to ruin everything?

I dropped my eyes quickly, and needing to give myself time to think, stood and went to pick our plates up.

"Phryne," he took a gentle hold of my wrist, stopping my movement. The air was thick with tension. Something was bound to erupt.

Holding my eyes, he stood, and slowly brought my hand up to his face.

"It's just me," he almost whispered. "Just me."

I was reassured immediately. It was Jack. My partner. My equal.

I couldn't wait.

"Jack..." My voice came out breathy, but why was I bothering to speak? I put my other hand to his face too, and pulled him towards me, kissing him before he even had time to put his hands on me.

Jack always catches on quickly though! His lips parted beneath mine almost immediately and his hands shot to my waist, grasping me firmly to him.

Despite my earlier misgivings, there were fireworks going off in my head, a cacophony of fanfare and celebration! I half expected a parade to come crashing through the kitchen, waving banners and proclaiming "Finally! Finally!"

But when we broke apart (in desperate need of air) and Jack fixed me with a serious, almost ferocious stare, all such trivial thoughts were pushed from my mind. I had always suspected there was a man of deep passion underneath all those wool layers and buttons, but the look on his face took my breath away and I shivered in anticipation. When he came for me again, it was with a wildness that left my knees weak. He grasped hungrily at me, his mouth hot and needy against mine, his hands rough in my hair and at my back.

Where had this Jack been hiding?! Was he like this with every woman, was he like this with Rosie? Or was this passion because of us? - because I noticed that I was responding with as much need as him, my usual control flying out of the window along with his. He was like something primal unleashed, and I wondered how on earth someone who clearly had such an APPRECIATION for sensual pleasures had managed to withstand all my attempts at seduction so stoically, for so long!

I was paying for it now, I realised, as he lifted me roughly and placed me on the counter, ignorant of utensils flying to the floor around me. And how delightful it was!

He wedged himself between my thighs, his hands making their way confidently under my skirt until his fingers were brushing roughly against the top of my stockings. The feel of him there sent a lightning bolt through me and I moaned against his mouth.

"Oh, Jack..."

I could feel him smirk against me and I pulled him closer, kissing him roughly to encourage him in his efforts. He responded admirably, his hands creeping upward to where I needed him the most. I almost leapt off the counter in shock when after only a moment's hesitation, he slipped his fingers under the silk there and began to stroke and tease me in the most delicious manner! All the while, his mouth had moved to my neck and was burning a hot trail downwards. Soon, I was needing more and was practically writing against him in my impatience. He relented, and his clever fingers went to work, keeping up a steady tempo until I froze and collapsed against him in the most shattering climax I have experienced in recent memory!

After, I was unable to move or speak, resting my forehead against his chest in dumb exhaustion (and disbelief!). He held me close, and I felt him drop a kiss onto the top of my head.

"Jack... That was..." I managed, raising my head to look at him.

He smiled at me fondly. "Good?" he whispered.

I laughed. Good? "Very good, Inspector."

"Should we relocate, Miss Fisher?" he teased.

I glanced up at the ceiling, thinking about the exertion it would take to climb those stairs.

"You may have to carry me," I murmured.

"Happy to be of assistance."

I wrapped my legs around him, and he lifted me off the counter and carried me, laughing, out of the room.

 ** _Jack_**

I don't think I have been ever been as happy to wake up as I was this morning.

For many years now, waking up alone has been a constant feature of life, and not, it has to be said, one that particularly bothered me. Not counting the several times I appear to have been knocked unconscious in Phryne's company (innumerable, it sometimes seems) I haven't woken up next to someone since Rosie left. At that time, it was truthfully more of a relief to wake up merely with one's own thoughts for company, rather than waves of resentment and disappointment emanating from one's bed partner.

But lately, as my thoughts have been increasingly occupied by a certain lady detective (you would think as we grew closer, my imagination might have taken a back seat in the hope of more tangible pleasures to come; but unfortunately the converse seems to be true!) waking up without her felt more and more like a cruel twist of fate, a bucket of cold water thrown over the dreams I enjoyed by night.

So to wake up not only in her bed, not only with her beside me, but with her body actually curled in to mine was nothing less than a moment of utter joy.

She lay facing me, her hair falling over her face so that I could only see the apple of her cheek and her nose pressed into my shoulder. I could feel her leg intertwined with mine and her hand was placed possessively on my chest (specifically, the fanciful part of my brain pointed out, over my heart) as if she wanted to make sure I wasn't going to escape in the night.

Nothing could have been further from the truth, I realised, as I thought back over the previous night's events.

It had taken a while to break through that initial awkwardness of anticipation, and for a while I was confused that she didn't merely pounce: a move, I confess, that I had been half expecting almost since the start of our friendship! It was only when I realised with a shock that she was herself nervous of starting down this new path that I took things into my own hands.

One touch was enough and before I knew it we were together, with a passion and urgency that I could scarcely have imagined before, let alone experienced. I confess I completely forgot where we were, even what day it was. Everything was pushed out of my head. She was in my arms, and filling my mind too: Phryne. It's all I could think, all I could feel, and it drove me half insane. She was up on the counter before I even realised I had put her there, and finally between her legs, I couldn't stop myself from doing something that looking back, was probably highly inappropriate on a food preparation surface.

But the feeling I had as she shuddered against me was like nothing I had felt before and drove away any embarrassment I felt at letting go in that way.

And of course, Phryne, reclining languidly in my arms as I carried her upstairs afterwards, wasn't embarrassed in the slightest!

The night continued, at times frantic and desperate (no wonder after such a long wait!) but at others slow and tender and quiet. When we eventually fell asleep near morning, I felt that certainly I had not yet explored and catalogued her delicious body in the detail I intended to, but I had made a damn good start.

Looking at her when I opened my eyes, and realising it hasn't been all been a dream... Well. As I said, I don't think I have ever been so happy to wake up.

I was afraid to breathe and ruin the moment but I couldn't resist putting my hand up to cover hers where it lay on my chest, brushing its silky softness and drawing circles over her knuckles.

She began to wake then, a grumpy but endearing little journey which began with a discontented growl and ended (happily) with an upward curve of her lips as she opened her eyes to see me smiling at her.

She propped herself up but remained uncharacteristically silent, regarding me with bright eyes as a wide grin spread over her face.

I could tell that she was reliving recent events too, and eventually her hand on my chest was no longer enough. I gave it a gentle tug and she came over me, her face hovering above mine like an unadorned but beautiful... (is the word 'angel' too much? I called her a guardian angel once and she seemed to like it) ... whatever she reminded me of, she was a vision, and I had to remind myself again that she was real.

We lay gazing at each other for what was probably an unreasonable amount of time considering we are two grown adults and not callow youths in the first flush of love. Her expression was more open than I had ever seen it, her usual smirk or sly smile of seduction completely absent. She was looking at me in a way that made her seem both vulnerable and imbued with power, suffused with her own happiness and seemingly enraptured simply by our eye contact.

The idea that Phryne Fisher would be enraptured by anything about me is, of course, laughable, and so I smiled, struck by the unreality of our situation. A look of embarrassment passed across her face, and her eyes dropped. She bit her lip and I knew she had the same thought: we had caught ourselves acting like a pair of love struck teenagers.

Chuckling, I tried to catch her gaze again, and she playfully avoided meeting my eyes until she broke into a throaty laugh (a delightful sound) and moved her face closer to mine. We kissed and then, obviously unwilling to break apart, we hugged.

It seems an odd thing to say: "we hugged". I'm sure there are many men who would consider merely hugging Phryne a clear waste of boudoir time and opportunity, but more than anything else, that embrace this morning felt like the completion of a marathon of moments that had led us there. If that day in the Andrews' bathroom was the starting line, and all those moments in between; the different legs, then that hug was us crossing the finish line. It was a celebration.

We made it. Thank God. And suddenly, I couldn't wait anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:**

I end this fluffy little experiment with this final instalment. I've had a lot of fun trying into get in Jack and Phryne's minds and I hope you've enjoyed the results!

Gingham xx

...

Chapter 3

 ** _Phryne_**

We lay together like that for several minutes. At times I felt like laughing, other time I was practically (and embarrassingly) close to tears.

It was so overwhelming! To have what we had CLEARLY wanted for so long, and to have it feel so right! It was such a new and wonderful feeling to me, and as I lay there with him murmuring into my hair I couldn't think what on earth we had been playing at in delaying all these months!

"Phryne," he whispered, and I drew back slightly to look at him.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He had caught me off guard and my eyes had widened in shock before I even had time to register what he said.

He smiled at my expression and, dear man, rushed to reassure me.

"I don't expect you to say anything, I just -"

I interrupted him. "But -"

"No," he admonished.

"But I -"

He made a noise that indicated I should be quiet and with great impertinence, put a hand over my mouth! My indignation must have been evident, as he smirked before saying, "just listen, will you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and he took that as a cue to continue.

"You already knew," he explained calmly. "So it seemed churlish to not say it."

I flashed my eyes at him and he removed his hand with a smile.

"How long have you wanted to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Put your hand over my mouth."

He laughed and held me tight around my waist. "Every day since I met you."

"How long have you loved me?"

His laughter died suddenly and he looked at me seriously before smiling again, a softer smile this time but just as sincere.

"Same answer."

I was silent and he gave me a squeeze.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm waiting for that to scare me," I answered honestly.

"And it doesn't?"

"No, it does. But not in the way you might think."

I rolled off of him, curling back into his side and drawing the covers over us. It probably makes me sound like a horrible coward, but I found it easier to speak openly so close to him, under the covers in semi darkness. "I don't feel scared of loving you, Jack. I don't. But in a sense that's just as terrifying because I've never felt like this. Not for a long time. And my natural reaction to this sort of thing is usually fight or flight."

He nodded, taking the time to consider and understand my meaning. "Well. I'm used to your fighting at least. Just don't fly."

"I don't mean fight you. I mean fighting for you. For us. I want to do that, Jack. I want to try. I don't want to run away from this."

I meant it. I don't think I'd ever meant anything so much.

"Good. Me neither."

"Fight not flight?"

"Fight not flight," he agreed, and I could see he was relieved.

We kissed again and I felt our bodies shift together, heat building between us.

(Because, my God, his body! Have I had a chance to say this? Last night was a thrilling, wonderful tour of those contours his bathing suit had hinted at Queenscliff. Oh, of COURSE I had seized every available opportunity to catch hold of his arm or insinuate myself as close as humanely possible to him in his office, but to finally get him fully out of his three piece suit last night was like unveiling a Greek sculpture; except warmer and MUCH more red-blooded! Pressing your fingers against his skin, you feel the power of his muscles underneath; his every movement is like a coiled spring just waiting to unleash its power, and when it does... Let's just say it takes a lot to render me breathless and skittish but this morning, with the memory of last night fresh in my mind I doubt very much whether my legs would have carried me as far as the bedroom door!)

Anyway, his admission of love (and my failure to disintegrate into dust at hearing it) spurred us on, and it seemed that every touch after that was amplified, every movement more intense. Before another bout of passionate lovemaking could ensue however, a knock at the door signalled the arrival of Mr Butler.

There followed breakfast, and hunger sated, we returned to previous activities. (It will take me a long time to satisfy my hunger where Jack is concerned!) I had wondered whether or not he might be inexperienced in bed (Rosie being his one lover I know about) and although he might not be quite as polished as some of my previous partners, there is certainly more than enough raw talent there to be going on with! He seems to know me, inside and out, so that pleasuring me is the easiest and most natural thing in the world to him. He admitted straight away that he had not spent much time… well, shall we say, appreciating the TASTE of a woman, but he was more than willing to improve in that area if I was amenable!

I was highly amenable! The sensations he created as he explored that sensitive area, exquisite as they were, were heightened a hundred fold by his obvious enjoyment in being there. I've never seen a man quite so enthralled by me; it made me feel quite… goddess-like! It wasn't long before I clenched around him, my thighs holding him in place as he took me over the edge. It was only afterwards I realised I had probably come close to suffocating the poor man, but he merely smirked said there were worse ways to go. Undeniably true, but I did laugh at the thought of my having to give a statement to poor Hugh about how his boss had met his end! Jack laughed too, but broke off long enough to flash me a reproachful look. Despite his strictness with Hugh, he is uncommonly protective of him, and doesn't like anyone (not even me!) taking advantage of his naivety.

Look at me extolling the virtues of this man, as if I needed justification! Phryne Fisher justifies herself to no-one!

But, it turns out, she does like talking about Jack Robinson.

Oh, heavens. She's probably doomed!

 ** _Jack_**

We had spent the whole morning and most of the afternoon pleasantly occupied, and were probably well on the way to eating a third meal in the boudoir when Mr Butler, entering tactfully and swiftly (and with such lucky timing that I started to have disturbing thoughts about the thickness of the walls and ceilings) reminded Phryne that she was expected at her Aunts for afternoon tea.

"Hell!" she cried. "I'm not going."

Mr Butler stood respectfully, waiting to see if this was a genuine decision or just a temporary venting of feelings – I imagine he has become quite the expert in figuring that one out!

"Phryne," I admonished. "You can't cancel on her."

"I believe your Aunt is very much looking forward to seeing you," Mr Butler interjected, making me wonder just how forceful Mrs Stanley had been in her telephone conversation.

Phryne made a face like a small child denied ice cream. "Very well," she said, and Mr Butler shimmered out of the room.

She looked at me with a sullen expression. "Anyone would think you haven't enjoyed the day!" she accused, unjustly.

I laughed out loud. "Phryne, how can you say that? This…" I thought about it. "This may have been the best day of my life."

I wasn't joking. It wasn't just making love to her (although, of course…) it was every other intimacy we had shared that day, curled up together in her bed. Waking up with her next to me, telling her I loved her without her disappearing in a puff of smoke, telling each other stories about how we came by our various scars, sharing breakfast and lunch in the most ridiculous eat-from-the-same-fork fashion, and more often than not, just lying together, not speaking, just… being very thankful that this thing that at one point in time would have been nothing more than a ludicrous fantasy, had come true.

The only low point was when I briefly thought I was about to suffocate whilst wedged between Phryne's thighs. And even that was better than most of my previous high points.

So, yes, Phryne. Best day of my life.

She smiled at me. "Me too," she replied.

Considering how much more exciting her life has been compared to mine, I hardly thought this likely, but as she started kissing me immediately afterwards, I soon put it out of my mind.

Breaking away, she resumed her earlier pout. "And yet you encourage me to leave this bed and, rather than ravish you senseless, have tea with my Aunt instead?"

I stroked her back idly. "It's a postponement rather than a cancellation, Phryne. I'd like to entertain the hope that there will be plenty more ravishments to come."

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes."

She leaned closer. "Only if you say please."

I didn't capitulate, so we enjoyed a short but pleasant wrestle which ended with my hovering over her.

"So this is what you meant by 'fight'?" I said, brushing her lips with mine. "I must say I rather enjoy it."

"And yet you are encouraging me towards 'flight'?" she answered. I was pleased to note her voice was rather breathless.

"Only temporarily," I replied. "And for good reason."

"I believe you rather like my Aunt Prudence."

"I do," I admitted it easily. "She's kind, and she cares about you very much. Hard as a shell but a heart of gold."

"You'll make me jealous."

I rolled my eyes at her. She gave a quick grin.

"Just kidding. I'm glad you have a soft spot for her. As long as I get your hard spot to myself!" She ground her hips up against me as she said this last and I almost shot off the bed in surprise.

"Phryne!"

She sat up, clearly delighted to have regained the upper hand. "How about you indulge both your affections together, Jack? Kill two birds with one stone."

I rolled off of her. "What do you mean?"

"Come with me."

I tilted my head at her in confusion. "I'm sure your Aunt will find that very odd."

"I'm sure she won't," said Phryne, the hint of a laugh in her voice. "Not after the other night."

I felt my face grow hot as I remembered her walking in on our kiss two nights ago. I've never behaved so rudely as to completely turn my back on a woman as she walked into a room, but I was faced with little choice. It would have been far less well mannered, I think, and distinctly unwelcome, to greet her with heavy, panting breath and a prominent… well, anyway.

"I wasn't included in the invitation," I said, hurriedly.

"She won't mind!"

Phryne has an annoying habit of just saying things and then immediately believing them to be true. _"One more whiskey won't hurt," "These heels are perfectly appropriate for a chase," and "You'll hardly notice me, Jack!"_ are just a few examples of phrases that I have fallen for against my better judgement.

I wasn't so love struck now that I was about to be taken in again!

"Be serious, Phryne," I said. "If you turn up with me in tow, your Aunt will immediately spot that something is going on."

"Of course she will!" she agreed. "And if she doesn't, I'll soon set her straight."

I blinked. "What?"

"And you won't be 'in tow', Jack," she continued, ignoring me. "We'll be going together. As partners."

I gave an undignified splutter. "You mean you want to tell Mrs Stanley about… about us? Today?"

"No time like the present!" she said brightly.

"It's barely been 24 hours!" I said. "I barely believe it yet! What chance does your Aunt have?" I considered it. "Christ, she'll hit the roof."

Phryne laughed. "No she won't. She thinks you're good for me."

"She said that?"

"Well, not in so many words, but…"

"Phryne!"

"Jack!" She leant forward, cupping my face in her hands and rendering me temporarily speechless. "I don't want to go out in the world and have a conversation with someone as dear to me as Aunt P and not mention you. I don't want to have to make up reasons why I don't want to be set up with some horrific society bachelor. I don't want to hide anything. I don't want to hide you. Not for one second. If we're together, we're together, whether we tell people now or two years from now."

I blinked, and I could have sworn I felt my heart mimic the action. I knew exactly what she was doing. She might not be able to say the words out loud, but this was her way of telling me that what we have is important to her, that she sees a future for us beyond a few nights of passion and that we (most importantly) are a partnership she doesn't want to run from.

It's an awful, guilty, thing with too many possessive implications, and I would never say it out loud for fear of immediate castration, but I'll admit at that moment I thought it: My Phryne.

I realised another thing too; that for all my talk of not falling for it, I was about twenty seconds away from agreeing to leave Phryne's comfortable bed for the most awkward afternoon tea in my life.

I'm doomed, aren't I?

I made a final half-hearted protest. "She might not be as overjoyed as you think, you know. She might put up a bit of a fight."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Well, Jack Robinson? Fight or flight?"

Doomed.


End file.
